


how far (can an honest man sink)

by thescyfychannel



Series: spin dust like shining gold [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Choking, Demon Sex, Demons, Face-Fucking, Fights, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Marking, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: Dirk's learned more than enough to keep up.That's what he tells himself. That's what he honestly thinks.(The first time Eridan and Cronus meet him, he still wears his chains tight around his pulse points.)





	how far (can an honest man sink)

The first time you meet your new brother, he still wears his chains tight around his pulse points.

Humanity binds humans in ways they never seem to understand or expect, in ways that need to be clawed off their back and flayed off their skin, to be stripped away before anything can _truly_ be made of them. Dirk Strider, as far as you can tell, has much to be made of him. Eventually. Slowly.

You're eager to make it.

He's on edge, still, uncertain in the shape that Dualscar's made of him even as it fits him like a second skin. New skin. New blood.

Fresh meat.

"Dirk Strider." Cronus' voice curls around every consonant in his name, and you remember your first time hearing that voice, you remember the way it drove right into you right along with Dualscar's dick, and more than that? You remember the way it sounded, breaking on your name, as you bent him over the couch and fucked deep into him.

You wonder how Dirk's voice will sound when you do the same to him.

The both of you hold back, waiting for Dualscar's permission to explore this latest development in his plans. It's something you've learned through trial and error, through...lessons, some of which you enjoyed far more than others. You're learning. Still learning.

You'd _like_ to be learning about him, whiskey-eyed and wanting, still seemingly lost in your sire's haze. He'll be beautiful, coming out of it, down from it, right onto your dick and powers alike.

A sharp _tch_ from your sire has you pulling back before you even realize how far forward you've gone. Cronus is amused, you can feel it in the air, but you immediately drop down on one knee, head bowed and curls hanging into your eyes as you await Dualscar's judgment. Tension draws out the seconds, and Dirk's curiosity, before another noise pulls your head upright, like someone's tugged hard on all your strings. "Mind yourself," Dualscar says, and relief floods you, "and don't play nice."

You're flooded with something else, and Dirk is flat on his back, atop the luxurious carpet, before anyone can blink.

And you, of course, are on top of _him._

Dirk raises an eyebrow at you. Your expression could be termed, very loosely, as a smile. It's in the same category. You're at least showing your teeth._  
_

It's a mark of how naive you were, once upon a time, that you're actually _surprised_ when he ruins it. "Overcompensating for something, are we?"

His drawl drags its way down your sides and nearly has you rolling your hips down against his, nearly has your eyes backlit with their usual glow. Nearly, though, nearly's the key word and you _nearly_ rip his throat out, riding the wave of pure, instinctual reaction to another demon's efforts to assert any kind of control over you.

You bare your fangs instead, and he responds with a snarl. Okay. Okay. You can handle this. You're back on solid ground.

Time to catalogue what you know: Cronus has left the chair he was sprawled across like some particularly disinterested cat to get a better view. You have a solid five minutes, ten, if you keep it interesting enough, before he decides he wants to get involved. Dualscar, meanwhile, has taken his place on the throne-like chair that gives him full command of the room, atop a raised dais that offers him an unobstructed view. He is an unknown quantity, and you _will_ please him, whatever you decide to do.

Dirk...

Dirk is looking at his phone.

Maybe you'll rip out his throat after all.

His voice startles you out of a pleasantly blood-tinted reverie, and you blink. "What?"

Taunting. That's the only word for his look, for his smirk, for the way his eyes burn. "You're not very good at patience, are you?" You're close to baring your fangs again, ready to turn this into a proper fight, when he slides a hand down your pants. "I'm going out on a limb here and guessing you weren't made for that."

"I hardly think you need to know what I'm made for, _Strider_."

"On the contrary," he says, and _shit_, you'd focused on his eyes and his hand and lost your concentration on the pin, "I think it's one of the top things I need to know."

You glare up at him, sprawled across your back, and consider petitioning Dualscar for permission to actually destroy the upstart. It's not likely you'd get it, but damn if you're not going to enjoy thinking about it as you ask the question he's so obviously waiting for. "An why is that?"

"How the hell else are we going to work together," he says, and _fuck_ he's leaning down close into your face, you could bite him, you could kiss him, you could _break_ him, "_brother_."

This time, you don't even bother with a snarl, spinning what you can of a haze directly at him, and—

Fog and blur wrap around you, warmth and interest in so many damn different forms, and you shudder underneath Dirk, your hips pressing up against his ass like he's everything in the world that you so desperately need, and—

"_Cronus,_" you hiss out, the sounds scraping over gritted teeth. Five, maybe ten, minutes is either up or something else has piqued his interest enough to get him involved far earlier than you planned for.

Dirk, from what distant, drifting, view you have of his face, is wearing an appraising look. "Not that I don't mind the help, but how about an explanation on the why."

"Things looked more fun this way." Cronus runs a hand through your hair and you shudder, your eyes slipping shut, the haze spilling off the both of them making the slightest flicker of attention feeling even better than sex.

Oh, fuck. At this rate, you're gonna die when they actually get around to the sex.

Dirk smiles, and you think he's learning from you much as you're learning him: It's his teeth, bared, and maybe a mortal would be fooled. No one else. Certainly not Cronus, certainly not you, and _definitely_ not Dualscar.

This is all the warning you get before he shreds through your clothing; this is all the warning you get before he drops himself down onto your already-hard length; this is all the warning you get before he upends your plans entirely, in favor of his own.

Oh, you are going to _enjoy_ ripping him open and clawing _everything_ of him out.

* * *

Okay. Why not?

Let's be Dirk.

* * *

The first time you meet Eridan and Cronus Ampora, you are competing for your place in the pack—clan, not pack, you need to remember these things—hierarchy, and you are intimately aware of it. At the moment, you could easily be considered the bottom of the totem pole. From the looks in their eyes, you're sure they're considering it too.

That's fine with you. You've never minded taking a good, hard dick up the ass, but you're also self-assured enough to know that this is the make or break day. First impressions, and so on.

Also? Eridan is _heinously_ easy to rile. You have a feeling that, despite your assigned descriptor, you are going to thoroughly enjoy getting a rise out of him on the daily. Maybe he'll even eventually learn how to be a little less...predictable. Until then, you'll see what you can do about training him to fuck you exactly the way you like it.

Or fucking him. You're game for that too.

He's determined, you'll give him that. Even with Cronus layering haze after haze on Eridan, perfectly twining with your own like he's been doing this for years (and you have an odd feeling about that, him), Eridan's fighting. Fighting, in this case, is acceptable as long as it doesn't interfere with the sex. Other things you'll give him: His dick is fucking superb, and he's not half bad at using his hips. Considering where he came from, and the fact that he's a goddamn Ampora, you probably shouldn't be surprised. Considering that he's a fucking asshole, you are.

"Is he always this much of a bitch about bottoming?" Actually, you're pleasantly surprised. It's taking a fair amount of concentration and effort to keep your tone light and conversational as you grind yourself down onto him, and judging by the amusement in Cronus' eyes, he can tell.

"Depends, really." His hand's switched from Eridan's hair to his mouth, and you watch, fascinated, as the youngest Ampora opens up easily to take three fingers halfway down his throat. "It's all in how you approach it. Sometimes he gets it in his head that he's gotta put up more of a challenge than the fight's worth, and _sometimes_—" here he pauses, looks at you, and _damn_ they don't play "—he gets riled up."

When his other hand lands on Eridan's throat, a shudder runs its way through you, shaking out your spine and making Eridan moan, muffled, as you bear down around his cock.

_(it is easy easy easy to remember that, the way soft violet silk felt rough around your throat when wrapped tight and tugged, your sire choking the tainted air out of your lungs as he burned all of your other impurities away, feeling holy and blessed as the edges of your vision fuzzed out and blurred as you came harder than you had ever come before)_

So you flash him a grin and do a neat little roll of your hips that has _Eridan_ choking, now, timed to match one of Cronus' thrusts, four fingers now, and you consider, heavily, how much you're going to enjoy fucking your fellow demon's throat. "I'll keep that in mind."_  
_

"Do," says Cronus, and you're a little enraptured with the way he pulls his fingers out of Eridan's mouth, dragging them over his face and tangling them into his hair, and—oh, _fuck._

You're a simple man—demon—of very simple pleasures. Seeing a hot dude with a fist in his hair, getting his head yanked back until he parts his pretty lips and takes a fucking gorgeous cock between them? It's high on the list._  
_

Actually. You think this would count for pretty much anyone with a pulse. Eridan Ampora takes things _well_, his face flushed and eyes half-lidded, throat going slack enough that Cronus can hilt himself with one smooth thrust. You're starting to get the point of this team-building idea, if it includes things like Cronus cupping the back of Eridan's neck, thumbing over the stretch of his throat, things like Eridan's barely audible moaning, things like the sound of easy slickness made louder by demonic hearing.

"Fuck," you whisper, nearly reverent, and Cronus smirks.

"What's the word, boss?" For a moment—one moment, one _fleeting_, glorious, relief of a moment—you think he's talking to you.

Then you note the way his eyes are lifted, up-over one shoulder, and you remember, all too well, the third element to the situation that you'd completely forgotten. Oh, fuck.

"Go ahead and break him if you'd like," Dualscar rumbles, and fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ his broad chest's pressed up against your back, you can feel his hands, and you are so, so screwed—

Beneath you, Eridan thrashes; beneath you, Eridan attempts to scream; beneath you, Eridan goes completely slack as your sire tosses his own haze into the ring. You watch, fascinated, as he shudders apart beneath you, as you feel his thighs lifted behind you, pressed hard up to bracket your back, as you feel him—you—lift up, _literally_, as that massive fucking thing Dualscar has the audacity to call a dick is buried deep in his ass.

Cronus _laughs_, and you freeze up, palms braced flat on Eridan's chest, as Dualscar looms behind you. "Will do." And then he kicks up an infernally fast rhythm, and you can _see_, even from this angle, how hard and deep it has to be, for Eridan to feel and to take it. It's only trumped by the steady beat of Dualscar's hips on Eridan's ass, and you struggle to move at an appropriate pace, just a shade too wide-eyed as you contemplate how gloriously awful he must be feeling right now. From the noises he's making, you think your guess is fairly spot on.

Teeth drag over your shoulder, and your whimper is nearly redirected into a scream. "You can do better than that, boy," Dualscar tells you, and you wonder if he's always had different streams of enticements for each of you, wonder if they're crossing over now. "I recall training you better than that."

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," is the first thing off your lips, and the quip makes your sire snarl. Infrasonics suddenly made much less _infra_ by a new set of ears catch at every inch of you and make you moan, a much better response to your sire's orders than any other you've so far found.

"Looks like I haven't trained you quite so well as I thought." You find it in yourself to be envious of Dualscar's skills and controls. He keeps thrusting into Eridan, hard enough to break the poor bastard apart, keeps Eridan's thighs up in the air and Eridan's calves braced on his broad shoulders, and _still_ manages to sink his claws into your hips and start fucking you on Eridan's dick. By now, your sounds are coming much more in earnest, the slick sound of your brother demon's dick in your ass a beautiful contrast to the near sobs spilling out of your throat.

"_Fuck,_" says Cronus, a direct echo of you save for the sheer admiration in his voice. "Guess I know what I wanna be when I grow up."

Dualscar laughs, a brief, abrupt, perfect thing. "If you had the slightest flicker of ambition in you, a statement like that might actually worry me."

You get to see every inch of Cronus' teeth when he flashes your sire back a grin. "Fair enough, chief."

These are the last words spoken for some amount of time. Dualscar's fangs, each one perfect, shark-sharp, and fucking huge, sink into your shoulder in a way that makes you sob-scream. He bites down until he can feel you bleed, then moves to the other side to repeat the process, drags his teeth over sensitive skin in the process, sucks marks and bruises onto you in between his efforts at letting your blood. At some point, you come hard enough to almost blank yourself out, painting white across Cronus' hips and Eridan's chest, at some point, Eridan comes hard inside you, and you'd think he's passed out if it weren't for the way his hands curl into fists.

At no point does Dualscar let up. At no point does Cronus ease.

You can feel Eridan's come, hot and heavy in your ass, shifting with each of Dualscar's pulls on your hips; you can feel it leaking out around his dick. Your old scars are opened, your pale skin is dripping red that falls and mixes with the white spill spread across Eridan's tan, you—

You come so fucking hard, this time, that you actually do black out.


End file.
